


On Soft Stuff

by ThatNerd



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-06-24 16:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatNerd/pseuds/ThatNerd
Summary: Surrounding yourself with soft stuff isn't life.And in this moment, with Karen’s arms around him, her body pressed intimately against his, he realises how wrong his mentor was and that soft stuff is exactly that: life in its purest form.- - - - - - - - - -AKA Matt accepts his loved ones' help without protest for once and figures out something important along the way.





	On Soft Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Daredevil story. I hope I did the characters justice and that I managed to capture some of their awesomeness.

_“Surrounding yourself with soft stuff isn't life, it’s death.”_ — **_Stick_**

Their office is mostly quiet. Normally, he enjoys the quiet but today he'd prefer the cacophony of the city. The quiet means he has to deal with his loud thoughts and he doesn't want to do that. 

He is trying his best to concentrate on the file in front of him but he is failing miserably. His fingers have gone over the same line at least three times but his mind refuses to register the words. He gives up after the fourth time and he sinks in his chair with a wince, trying to find a comfortable enough position.

His whole body aches from last night's activities, his knuckles feel swollen and bruised, and the new cut over his left eyebrow is giving him a pounding headache. He is tired, _so tired_ , but every time he closes his eyes to catch some sleep the nightmares attack, so the “nap couch”—as Foggy has dubbed it—is out of the question. 

He needs a distraction. 

He can hear Foggy pacing in his office, the rhythmic thump-thump of his baseball as he throws it in the air and then catches it. 

Karen isn't here but her scent is all around him. He can smell the faint lavender of her shampoo and the perfume he loves so much along with something that’s uniquely her. 

He reaches out and gently touches the little bear plushie dressed as a devil she got for him when they moved to their new office and that has found a permanent home on his desk. He runs his fingers over its soft fur absentmindedly as he listens to his friend still pacing in his office, mumbling to himself from time to time. 

_Surrounding yourself with soft stuff isn't life, it’s death._

He clenches his jaw, lets out a sigh. Stick’s voice, his words swirling in his head again, taking residence there and nothing seems to be able to drown them out. It’s one of those days he guesses, that he finds himself questioning everything, doubting everything. 

The previous night was bad, too bad, and he can’t shake the feeling that he should have done more. 

Guilt. It’s as familiar to him as breathing. 

The smell of blood remains in his nostrils hours later, the sound of the trembling voice and the slowing heartbeat still rings in his ears, slower and slower until it stops completely and then it starts on a new loop, tormenting him. It was a kid, just a kid, barely fifteen and now his lifeless form is etched on his memory. 

_Please..._

He just wasn't fast enough... He should have been faster, he should have trained harder, he should have been better, he should have— 

**_Foggy_ **

“Hey, buddy. Everything all right?” 

Foggy’s concern filled voice cuts through his thoughts, scattering them away like smoke, making it a little easier for him to breathe. 

He clears his throat, momentarily not trusting his voice. “Yeah, Fogg, fine,” he says with all the assurance he can muster. 

He can tell by the way Foggy hovers by the doorway that it wasn't enough. 

“Wanna talk?” he asks tentatively, because that’s what they do now. Well, at least that’s what they try to do. 

“Not now...” Matt replies with a small shake of his head.

Foggy drums his fingers against the doorframe. 

“OK, here’s an idea. Since Karen is out meeting a client, and we don't have any appointments for at least two hours, we can take a walk, find a park, get some fresh air. It’s sunny out, it’ll do us both good.” 

He must look really bad if Foggy is offering to take him out on a walk. And it’s not just him. He sensed Karen’s reluctance to leave him earlier and the worry radiating from her body, the same way Foggy’s does now. He can't really blame them, considering the way he showed up at the office in the morning, all bruised and battered. Matt takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. 

“We can visit that new doughnut place Karen was talking about too, since it’s on the way!” 

“I don’t know...” 

“Come on, Matt! Please don’t let me brave the great outdoors alone!” Foggy pleads dramatically and he can’t help but chuckle, even if it is half-heartedly. 

“The park is the great outdoors now?” he asks, raising his eyebrows, a fragile smile finding its way to his lips, and he is pretty sure his friend is grinning triumphantly. _Soft stuff._

“Too much? Maybe it was a bit too much, but if it works, I'm okay with it,” he says with a shrug. 

Matt lets out something between a huff and a laugh and Foggy knows he’s won this round. 

“I’ll have to patch up that cut on your brow though first, it’s bleeding.” 

Oh, yeah. He forgot about that. Or, rather, ignored. 

He feels like he should protest but Foggy is already rummaging for the fully stocked first aid kit they keep at the office. 

_A little cut too much for you, Matty?_

He swallows past the lump in his throat. 

“Ta-dah! Found it,” he exclaims as he walks back to him, kit in hand. 

He sits at the end of the desk, next to where Matt’s chair is, and he starts taking out the things he’ll need. He can smell Foggy’s cologne and aftershave, the scent of his and Karen’s favourite bakery they visited in the morning still clinging to his clothes, a hint of Marci's perfume, the new shampoo he likes using lately and it’s enough to mask the scent of the imaginary blood and of the very real blood oozing from the cut on his brow. It’s familiar, comforting. 

_Weak._

“I need to remind you that I am no expert at this,” Foggy says warningly, disinfectant in hand. 

“I trust you.” 

His moves are hesitant when he starts working on patching him up, unlike Karen's or his mother's, afraid he is going to hurt him, but he is just as careful when he cleans the cut. He is a bit slower too, taking his time to make sure that he’s done a good job, before putting on a new bandage. 

The touch is so comforting and he tries hard to cling to that feeling and ignore the voice in his head calling him weak once again for enjoying it so much. _Soft stuff._

“All done!” Foggy proclaims clapping his hands together, satisfied with his work. 

“Thanks, Foggy,” Matt replies, managing a small smile. 

“No problemo. Now, let me grab my jacket and we can leave.” 

They choose their destination, a park near the church, which Matt guesses is for his benefit in case he wants to visit it, and they set off. The conversation as they walk is mostly one-sided. Foggy keeps a constant commentary of everything going on around them and Matt chimes in whenever he feels like adding something important, things only he would sense. 

He can tell that Foggy's attention is on him constantly, but he feels his friend’s worry slightly ebb away as they walk. He must be looking a little better, he guesses. He feels a little better. They do stop by the doughnut place and they get some doughnuts for the office for later too, making sure to get Karen’s favourites. 

As the time passes by he feels the weight he’s been carrying on his shoulders since the previous night lessening, if only slightly. He contributes more to the conversation, much to Foggy's delight, and they end up talking about their current cases and Karen’s new client who may end up needing their services too. 

They sit at the bench outside the church, jackets discarded, just basking in the sun and enjoying the warm spring day. Matt turns his head up, feeling the sun on his face, eyes closed and for a sweet moment he forgets all about last night and gets lost in it with his friend by his side. 

“I think... I think I'm gonna stay a while longer, if that’s all right,” he says when the time to return to the office approaches and Foggy nods in acceptance, no questions asked, pats his shoulder. 

“Take your time. We’ll hold the fort,” he tells him reassuringly and stands up. 

He stretches languidly and grabs his jacket and the doughnut box. “I think I'm going to take a cab.” 

“The great outdoors too much for you?” Matt jokes and Foggy chuckles. 

“I believe I had enough of an adventure for one day,” he says with a shrug. “See you at the office.” 

Matt focuses on him as he walks away, and Stick’s voice becomes louder with every step Foggy takes. 

_Weak._

_Cut it loose, all of it._

A battle rages in his head, the words rise to his throat but he can’t seem to get them out. He swallows, tries again. He refuses to let Stick's voice win so he plucks up the courage and calls out. 

“Hey, Foggy...” his best friend pauses, turns around. “Thank you,” Matt tells him sincerely and Foggy offers him his biggest, warmest smile. 

“Anytime, buddy. Anytime,” he says, the smile never leaving his lips. _Soft stuff._

As the minutes tick by he finds himself wishing Foggy had stayed. He wishes he had his best friend’s voice drowning Stick’s out, because now that he is not here it’s back with a vengeance, louder and clearer than before. 

_Cut yourself free..._

He clenches his jaw, closes his eyes. He tried to follow Stick’s advice; he really did. He did it unconsciously at first, not even realising he was doing it, before it became a conscious decision. And not just once. 

He did it to protect them, that was his reasoning. It pained him deeply that he had to hurt them but it had to be done. And yet they wouldn't let him push them away... they refused to let go. The harder he tried, the tighter they held onto him. He even pretended to be dead, for God’s sake, and even that didn't work. Were they angry? Furious. But they never gave up on him. 

Words can’t describe how grateful he is. He doesn't deserve them... but he wants them—no, needs them in his life. They keep him sane. 

It will always be a constant battle of trying to protect them and letting them in but he’s come to terms with that. They are worth it. 

_Weak._

His grip on his cane tightens, knuckles turning white by the seer force. The warmth of the sun isn't doing much right now to quieten his loud thoughts without the warmth of his friend by his side and he stands up stiffly, head bowed. 

He listens to the sounds of the church, concentrates on everything that’s going on inside. The new priest is talking to someone just inside the door, nuns are going about their jobs, parishioners are praying, kids are running around chasing a ball outside, laughing and giggling... 

Last night flashes through his mind and—God, he was a kid, he was just a kid... 

He starts moving, his steps swift, cane thumping rhythmically against the pavement as he makes his way to the church. The kids part to let him through— _he was just a kid._

_Too slow. Too weak._

By the time he reaches the door he has lost speed and he comes to an abrupt halt when he steps foot in the church. He is thankful no one that knows him is around. He walks slowly this time and pauses at the last row of pews, crosses himself before taking a seat. 

He rests his cane against the front row of pews and he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. He laces his fingers together and rests his forehead against them, closes his eyes. 

He lets the sounds and smells of the church invade his senses, wishing they will manage to mask the smell of the blood in his memory. The lingering smell of incense has sipped into everything over the years and is now part of the church itself, inseparable. He detects the smell of the burning votive candles, of the Eucharist from the tabernacle, of the decorative flowers, all of them mixing to create this oh so familiar scent to him, almost tangible and so real. No matter how real it is, in this moment it does nothing to cover the smell of blood that has returned to his nostrils. 

He was just a kid, just a kid... _God, forgive me_... just a kid... 

_Weak._

He fights the tears that threaten to spill from his eyes, takes a shuddering breath. 

_You failed, because you are too weak, too soft. Soft stuff isn't life, it’s death. That kid is dead because of you._

Just a kid... _just a kid._

_Please..._

**_Maggie_ **

“Matthew?” 

His head snaps up, only now noticing his mother standing there, too lost in his own head to hear her approaching. 

He grabs his cane and stands up hastily, trying to look somewhat composed. 

“Hey, mum,” he greets with a strained smile, pretending that everything is fine and that he was not on the verge of tears just moments ago. 

The three-letter word feels foreign yet right coming from his lips, it’s still new and fragile, and it always makes her heart skip a beat. 

She hesitates for only a moment before playing along. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure? And don’t tell me you were just in the neighbourhood, I happen to know where your office is.” 

Yeah, OK, their office isn't at the other end of the city, but it isn't around the corner either. And this isn't his usual visiting hour so she was bound to be suspicious even if he was actually composed. Leave it to her to call him out like that. 

He licks his lips, shifts his weight from foot to foot as he stands there in front of her and she breaks, lets her concern show. 

“Matthew, are you all right?” she asks, covering his hand that’s resting on his cane with hers and squeezing gently. _Soft stuff._

He gulps, nods. “Yeah...” he says. 

_No_ he wants to scream. 

_Weak._

She notices, of course she does, but she accepts his answer, at least for the time being. 

“I've got to take care of the laundry. Do you mind lending me a hand?” 

Helping do laundry. That sounds harmless, normal. He shakes his head and places his hand on her arm, letting her guide him without another word. 

This wasn't his original plan on how to spend his afternoon but the repetitive action of folding clothes helps, even if just a little. But what really brings him comfort is his mother’s presence, next to him. She is not asking any questions, not yet, just instructs him what to do and where to put the clothes when he is done with them. He is immensely grateful for that. 

He doesn't know how long he’s been here with her. He probably should have returned to the office by now but he can’t bring himself to do it just yet. He needs just a bit longer, a little more time to arrange his thoughts. Foggy has done enough for one day and Karen... he’s certain he’d break down if he faced her now. 

“Were you here to take Confession?” she asks finally, sensing that he is a lot calmer than the moment she found him, and he may want to talk. 

He shakes his head. “Not really...” It’s been months, but he still doesn't feel comfortable with the new priest. And, anyway, he’s got her now. 

_Do you have friends? People you care about?_

The voice is merely a whisper but it’s still there, taunting him. 

_They make you weak._

_No, shut up._

“We were out on a walk with Foggy.” His words make her pause mid folding a towel, eyebrows raised in surprise as she stares at him. He should have phrased that differently. Now she is going to be more worried than she probably already is. 

“You and Foggy were out on a walk, at this time of day, on a Wednesday, and you just happened to pass by the church,” she says, totally unconvinced. 

He shrugs. “Karen’s with a client,” he says, as if that explains their out of the norm behaviour. 

“Well, everything makes perfect sense now,” she says wryly and he actually smiles. 

Still, she doesn't press, she gives him his time despite the fact the he can feel her stealing glances at him. He should at least try to say something. But where does he even start? Why can’t he find the right words? 

“Are you going to fold that?” she asks suddenly, pointing at the sweatshirt in his hands. 

“Ah, yes, yeah...” He blinks a few times. How long has he been holding this? 

The memories threaten to return and he fights not to let them but he knows it’s a lost battle. They won’t be ignored this time, they demand his attention and he can do nothing but give in. 

_You are not alone, Matt... you never were._ Karen’s voice, an oasis in the darkness. 

No, he is not alone. He doesn't have to be. 

_Weak._

He ignores Stick’s voice and clings to Karen’s instead. 

“Mum?” his voice sounds tiny even to his own ears, and now he has her full attention. 

“I had, um, I had a bad night...” he admits in a whisper, as if, if he speaks louder, he’ll disturb something sacred. 

She takes the sweatshirt he is still holding, puts it back in the pile, and then she places her hand on his forearm and silently guides him towards the bed he used to sleep all those months ago, makes him sit down and then joins him. He fidgets with his hands and she covers them with one of her own, seizing his jerky movements. _Soft stuff._

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

He purses his lips, faces away from her. No, not really... Then why is he here? _Soft stuff._ Her hand is warm and gentle against his and the warmth of her body sipping into his side acts like a safety blanket, keeping him calm and the memories subdued. 

Maybe if he at least said something... he doesn't have to tell her everything, just enough to get it out of his chest. He lets out a sigh. 

“I couldn't help...” he admits in a whisper and he can practically feel the words linger between them, finally out in the open.

“Did you try?” 

“I was too slow. I should have gotten there faster but I didn't and now someone’s— someone’s dead because of me!” His words come out as a torrent, finally escaping the confines of his mind. 

_Just a kid..._ and he was terrified, so terrified and he could do nothing to save him, only hold his bloody hand and whisper that it was going to be OK, everything was going to be OK. Lies. _Lies. Weak._

“You didn't answer my question, Matthew.” Her voice remains calm despite his outburst and it gives him pause. 

“What?”

“Did you try to help?” she repeats patiently, as if she is talking to a child who can't quite grasp a difficult maths concept. 

“Of course I did, but—" 

“And were you the one doing the killing?” 

“No... it doesn't really matter...” he mumbles in defeat. 

“Why do you say that?” 

“I was too slow... I was preoccupied somewhere else, I should have taken those other bastards out faster, I should have reached them sooner, but I was slow... I was too slow...” 

_Weak._

He holds his head in his hands, closes his eyes tightly, wills the tears away. He waits for her agreement, or her accusations, or both; nothing comes. 

“So, you are telling me that someone died because you couldn't be at two places at once.” 

No, if he had been faster— 

“What if there was another fight at the same time? What if someone else needed help? What would you have done?” 

He remains silent, sightless eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. 

“You are one man. No matter how hard you train, or how fast you become, you will never be able to be at two places at once. You can’t break yourself into pieces.” 

He could try. 

_You should try._

_You are a warrior._

Something in his expression must have given his thoughts away because she sighs. “Do you think it’s going to help, you stretching yourself thin? It’s just going to break you, Matthew, and then you’ll be able to help no one.” 

He knows that, of course he does. He’s tried it before, pushed too hard too fast. It ended just as well as pushing his loved ones away did. 

He turns his face towards the ceiling, closes his eyes. A haunting sigh leaves his lips and this time he doesn't try to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. 

“How many people did you save last night?” 

He sniffles, shrugs his shoulders. 

“One? Ten? More?” Maybe. He doesn't know. He doesn't remember. He shrugs again. 

“Yet you remember everyone you couldn't save.” 

He turns to face her, wrings his hands. “He was alive when I got there but it was too late. All I could do was hold his hand and tell him that it was going to be OK. And for a moment, he actually believed me, you know? I could sense his relief just before his heart stopped beating...” 

And now he can sense her soft smile and he is utterly baffled. 

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe this was why you were there?” 

“Lie to him?” 

“Be there for him.” 

That was not his intention. He wanted to save him and he didn't stop to think anything else at the moment. Deep down he knew he was too far away when he heard the scream, but he just made a run for it. Realistically, he would never have made it in time. But he had to try, he just had to. And then he just blamed himself, because it was easier than admitting he didn't stand a chance of saving him. 

“Is this where you tell me this was some kind of divine plan?” 

“Would you like me to?” He shakes his head, offers her a sad smile. 

She reaches out and cups his cheek in her palm, brushing a stray tear away. “You can’t save everyone, honey.” 

Her last word goes straight to his heart, warms him from the inside out. _Soft stuff._

“And you can’t blame yourself every time you can’t.” 

“’Cause that would make me a martyr?” 

“I was going to say an idiot, but if you like that better,” she replies drily making him chuckle. 

She pats his knee and stands up. “Come on, those clothes aren't going to fold themselves.” 

“Still want my help?” he asks, trying not to sound too eager. 

“Of course, you are a natural at this,” his mother comments, already walking away, and he follows her with a tiny smile on his lips. 

His fingers run over the watch on his wrist. He’s got some time until his next appointment. The office is going to have to wait a little longer. 

**• • •**

It’s half an hour later that he finds himself walking back to work. Talking... helped, made this more manageable, helped him untangle the messy webs that were his thoughts. They are not completely untangled, but it’s better now, more bearable. **_They_** make everything more bearable. 

_Cut it loose, all of it._

Stick's voice still clings to the back of his mind, trying to break through to him. He’s not going to let it. He’s made that mistake enough times, he is not making it again. 

The moment he is within earshot of their office, he latches on to Karen and Foggy's voices, letting them flow over him, take residence in his head, drown everything else out. 

He can hear their laughter and he can’t help but smile. He swears just the sound of it is enough to chase his troubles away, even for just a moment. 

_“Just admit that I'm better at this!”_

_“Not gonna happen.”_

_“But I am!”_

_“What? Since when?”_

_“Oh, I don’t know, since the beginning of time?”_

_“No way, Nelson! I'm not giving up that easily!”_

_“Are you making coffee? Is this some kind of punishment for what I said?”_

He hears a soft thwack and then, _“Hey, don’t manhandle your work partner! That’s workplace harassment! The minute Matt gets in I'm calling a meeting to discuss this abhorrent behaviour!”_

There is a pregnant pause, footsteps. Matt comes to a stop just a few feet away from their office, listening more intently, head tilted to the left. 

_“Hey, he'll be here on time.”_

_“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”_

_“In the meantime, we can enjoy our break. But I'm not touching that coffee. Those doughnuts on the other hand...”_

He stops listening, drops his chin to his chest. He needs to stop doing this to them. With a small sigh, he starts walking again, pace brisk, and he is at the door in no time. The moment he enters he can sense their attention shifting to him immediately. 

“Hey,” Karen greets him first, pushing herself away from the doorframe of their small kitchen she was leaning against, coffee cup in hand. 

“Hey, buddy, how was the great outdoors?” Foggy asks, trying to keep his tone casual and Matt chuckles lightly. 

Karen looks at them in question. “The what now?” 

He rests his cane by the door of his office and walks to Karen, kisses her lips softly and he feels some of the tension leave her body as he wraps his arms around her waist. “Apparently, the park by the church is the great outdoors now, according to Foggy,” he clarifies and she snorts with laughter. 

“You really need to get out more,” she teases, her free hand coming to rest on Matt’s chest. 

“I get out enough, thank you very much,” Foggy shoots back defensively, “Matt, tell her!” 

“Yeah, absolutely. It was only last week he braved the wilderness that is Central Park." 

Karen giggles and Foggy scoffs. “I hate you both.” 

_Cut ‘em loose for their sake. Break their hearts if you have to, just do it quick._

_No. Never_ _again_. 

“Noted.”

Karen takes a sip from her coffee. “How was church?” 

“It was... good. My mother says hi, by the way.” 

“Did you tell her we are visiting her Sunday after mass?” Foggy inquires. 

“Yeah, don’t worry, I told her. When are Mr and Mrs Rodriguez coming in?” 

Foggy glances at his watch. “In about fifteen minutes.” He nods. 

Without saying anything else, he takes Karen’s hand in his and guides her to his office. Because now that she knows about him, he can do this without giving it a second thought. 

**_Karen_ **

“No hanky-panky! Our clients will be here in minutes!” Foggy’s voice makes them both smile. 

He sits at the edge of his desk and she willingly lets him pull her close to him, walks to stand between his parted legs. She rests her mug on the desk and he takes off his glasses, places them in his breast pocket. 

Her fingers ghost over the new cut over his left eyebrow, her touch so soft it’s barely even there. 

“You OK?” she asks, her voice gentle and soothing, eyes running over him in a silent inspection. He knows that she is not just asking about his physical health. 

Is he OK? No, not yet. Not completely, anyway. “Better,” he tells her instead. Now. With them. With her. 

She licks her lips, nods in understanding. She cups his cheek in her hand and he leans into her touch, closes his eyes. _Soft stuff._

He feels her lips on his forehead and he breathes in, allows her to take over all of his senses. His hands land on her hips and he pulls her impossibly closer to him until there is almost no space left between them. His forehead rests against her collarbone and he mimics her steady breathing, in and out. The scent of her shampoo and her perfume mixed with the scent of her skin is heady, her warmth envelopes him and the sound of her steadily beating heart eases his troubled mind. The word home comes to him and it exhilarates and petrifies him at the same time. 

He swallows past the tears that threaten to reach his eyes and his grip around her tightens. Her arms wrap around him without hesitation, holding him to her and her fingers run through his hair, providing more comfort than he thought humanly possible. 

He wants to bottle this feeling, keep it locked in the chest in his closet along with his father’s things, save it for a rainy day, just in case... He hopes he’ll always have the real deal and he’ll never need it, but he is not much of an optimist. He chases the thought away. 

“Do you, um... will you come home with me tonight?” he asks, not trying to hide the need from his voice. Her heart skips a beat at his word choice. 

“Propositioning your work partner, Mr Murdock?” she teases, gently pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He chuckles and he brushes his lips against the hollow of her neck before turning his face up to hers. 

“Well, my work partner happens to also be my girlfriend, so I think I’ll be good.” 

She hums thoughtfully, pretends to think about it, before a whispered _yes_ leaves her lips and he smiles. 

“Great...” he says in the same tone, getting one last kiss from her before there is a knock at the door. 

She reaches for her coffee and he reluctantly drops his arms from around her, letting her step away. 

Foggy is ushering their clients to the conference room and he can hear him offering if they want anything to drink. He fishes for his glasses from his pocket and puts them on, stands up. 

“Work is calling,” Karen tells him as she adjusts his tie and she drops a quick kiss on his cheek before retreating to the kitchen for that fresh pot of coffee. 

They’ll talk later. 

**• • •**

The rest of their day goes by smoothly. They are busy enough that he has no time to think about anything else and he is thankful for that. Karen's client does end up needing their legal help as well and they meet with him just before closing to discuss the specifics. 

He loves it, the three of them working together on the same case, and he can tell the feeling is mutual. He may say it’s Foggy that likes it more when it’s the three of them spending time together, but he has to admit he likes it just as much. Maybe he should take a page out of Foggy’s book and show it more. 

He can hear Foggy and Karen bantering in the conference room and focuses on their voices as he packs his briefcase for the day. He is glad this day is over. He is exhausted, both physically and mentally; he feels the need to sleep for the rest of the week but the nightmares that are bound to plague his night make the idea less appealing. 

_Karen will be there_ , his mind helpfully provides, and, although her presence doesn't guarantee the absence of nightmares, it makes him feel somewhat better. Most nights he hates himself for putting her through this, waking her up in the middle of the night just because he had a bad dream, worrying her with no reason. She shouldn't have to deal with this. The fact that she wants to still baffles him despite that he wants to do the same for her when her nightmares attack. 

Today he is feeling selfish though and he will accept anything she is willing to give without protest. 

He doesn't notice Foggy poking his head in his office until he hears his voice. “Hey, you ready to go?” 

He turns to face him and nods, grabs his briefcase. “Yeah, we can go.” 

He follows his friend to the door, where Karen is already waiting all ready to leave, and they walk outside before locking securely behind them. 

Foggy glances at his watch. “Shit, Marci is going to kill me if I'm late. We’re supposed to be meeting a friend of hers for drinks.” 

“Don’t be late, then. Go,” Karen tells him, pushing him gently towards the street. 

Foggy’s breathing changes and Matt knows he wants to say something but hesitates. He realises his best friend is still worried about him since he still doesn't have all the facts. 

“You should really go, Foggs, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes if you don’t get there in time,” he says, trying to keep his voice as light as possible. 

Foggy glances at his watch again, nods. “Right,” he says and turns to hail a cab. 

“Hey, Foggy, breakfast tomorrow?” Matt asks as Foggy opens the door of the car. 

They both know it’s not breakfast he is really offering. His friend smiles. 

“Sounds good. See you two tomorrow, don’t do anything I wouldn't do!” 

Matt shakes his head and Karen huffs a laugh, “Goodnight, Foggy,” they chorus as he gets in the car and he waves at them with a grin before closing the door and the driver takes off. 

Karen turns to face him, places her hand on his arm. 

“Home?” she asks and it’s his heart that does a weird little somersault this time. 

“Home,” he echoes, clasping her hand in his and interlocking their fingers. He doesn't bother to unfold his cane. 

His apartment is close to their new office so they simply decide to walk. Spring might be here but the nights are still chilly, a stark contrast to the days’ warm weather, but they don’t mind at all. 

He loves this; walking with her by his side, her hand in his hand, her shoulder bumping playfully against his, the sound of their synchronised footsteps and of her hair brushing against her shoulders as she moves. 

They reach their destination a few minutes later but they never let go of each other’s hand even as they climb the stairs to his apartment. She rests her chin on his shoulder as he looks for his key to unlock the door and then he simply pulls her inside, not wanting his nosy neighbour to catch them standing there. 

He discards his glasses on the table by the door and his arms find their way around her body the moment she locks it. His forehead drops against hers and he breathes in deeply, closes his eyes. He can feel her hands on his cheeks, caressing the skin there softly, mindful of the new bruise that’s already formed on his left cheekbone. 

_Relationships are a luxury men like you and me can’t afford._

He squeezes his eyes shut, pushes the voice away, ignores it completely and just focuses on the woman in his arms, her touch, her scent, the way she fits so perfectly against him, the way her mere presence can soothe him. 

“Where did your mind go?” He smiles at her gentle tone, shakes his head. Of course, she can read him like an open book. 

“Nowhere important,” he mumbles right before his lips press softly against hers. 

She returns his kiss with the same amount of tenderness, arms finding their way around his waist, pulling him to her until their bodies are pressed together. Her soft sighs and moans are music to his ears and he can't stop the same sounds from escaping him. 

“Let’s get you to bed, Mr Murdock.” 

He chuckles. “Who’s propositioning whom now, Ms Page?” he teases, earning a small laugh from her. 

“To sleep,” she clarifies, fingers playing with the lapels of his shirt. 

“Nice save.” She bites her lip to hide her smile, bows her head. 

“Come on,” she tells him, grabbing his hand in hers, and together they walk towards the bedroom, discarding their briefcases and jackets at the living room. 

She helps him shed his suit jacket and expertly removes his tie, before starting unbuttoning his shirt. Her moves are unhurried and he simply stands in front of her, enjoying being the centre of her attention. He lets her take his shirt off and then he reaches for her, hands grabbing the hem of her blouse and tugging gently before he starts pulling it off. Her hands land on his chest, covering the twin scars there; it still amazes him that she is not appalled by them. 

They get rid of the rest of their clothes and change into comfortable sweatpants and t-shirts before continuing with the nightly routine they've developed. It strikes him suddenly, how domestic the scene is, as they are brushing their teeth side by side in the bathroom. He wishes, not for the first time, that this was _their_ home and not just his. 

He’ll have to figure out how she feels about this. He tucks the thought away for now and he follows her to bed. 

He lets his body sink into the mattress and he groans as he stretches his sore muscles. He rolls to his left side so that he is facing her only to find her already looking at him. 

He scoots closer to her, seeking out her warmth. His head lands on her pillow, noses touching, legs intertwined. Her fingers are soft against his temple and he lets out an almost inaudible sigh, closes his eyes. 

“I'm here if you want to talk...” she mumbles. 

He manages a weak smile. 

He knows there are probably a thousand questions she wants to ask him but she is holding back, for the moment at least. 

“I know...” 

He snuggles closer to her, catches her lips in his in an almost desperate kiss, needing some of her strength she so willingly offers. 

“I'm not going anywhere,” she reassures him, sensing his desperation. 

She likes telling him that. She seems to know exactly when he needs to hear it. When he finds himself doubting everything, when his demons attack and he believes he doesn't deserve her she is there to chase them away. 

He likes hearing it. Especially now. 

“I couldn't help someone last night...” he says in a whisper. 

“I—” he pauses, takes in a shaky breath. “I tried, but I couldn't get there in time.” He swallows past the tears that are already forming in his eyes. 

“Hey, it’s OK, just take your time,” she encourages, taking his hand in hers and he nods, breathes in deeply. 

“I was following two guys to the docks. They—they seemed like they were looking for trouble but I couldn't be certain. They were packing, both of them, so if they were looking for trouble it would get ugly and fast. And it did. Drug deal gone wrong. I don’t know how long it took me, to knock them all out and tie them up.” 

“I was listening for the police siren, that’s when I heard the— the scream, the cries for help. And I was too far away, but I had to try, I just had to... I couldn't make it....” She squeezes his hand, offering him comfort, and he selfishly accepts it because he doesn't know if he’ll be able to continue without it. 

“He couldn't have been more than fifteen. I found him on the ground, stabbed, gasping for breath, bleeding out... and there was already so much blood, _so_ _much blood_...” he blinks rapidly, trying to prevent the tears from falling but it’s no use. 

“I was torn between chasing after the guy or staying, knowing I could do nothing about it. But he turned and looked at me, reached out for me. He was terrified but he wasn't afraid of _me_. He just said please...” 

_Please ..._

He didn't know exactly what he was asking for. Help? For him to not go? Something else? He only knows that he’ll be listening to that single word in his head for days to come. 

“I stayed and I just held his hand and promised him that he was going to be fine, that everything was going to be OK. He was just a kid, Karen—God, he was just a kid, a terrified kid... and he believed me, he believed what I told him, he believed that it would be OK. And then his heart just stopped beating and I couldn't—” 

His voice breaks on a sob and whatever composure he managed to keep up until that point dissolves the moment she pulls him into her arms. He buries his face in her neck, the tears falling freely down his cheeks, and he clings to her like a small child would. 

“I've got you...” she repeats in a whisper, over and over, as she runs her hand up and down his back, and it feels as if she is trying to embed the words within him, make them part of his very soul. 

His hold around her tightens as more treacherous tears escape and he just gives up completely on trying to stop them, he just lets them fall until he is spent and there are no more tears for him to cry. She simply holds him in her arms, his anchor in the ocean of his thoughts, until his sobs turn to sniffles and he is mostly calm again, refusing to leave the safety of her embrace. 

His wet eyelashes brush against her skin as he blinks and he kisses the wetness away, tasting her skin and the saltiness of his tears, before laying his head down again. 

He feels so exhausted but he doesn't want to succumb to sleep just yet. He is not done talking. 

“I found him, the man who did it.” 

The movement of her hand against his back seizes. “And?” 

“I dropped him off at the precinct. He is kind of worse for wear...” 

“Good.” 

He nods, licks his lips. His fingers fidget with the necklace around her neck. 

“There’s more, isn't there?” she asks knowingly. 

“I was so angry and I just kept hitting him. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stop...” he admits in a whisper. 

“But you did.” 

He gulps. “He taunted me, said it was my fault I couldn't protect the kid, called me a coward, weak—” 

“Hey, listen to me.” She cups his cheek in her hand, turns his face so that she can look at him. “This was not your fault. I know you feel like it’s your responsibility to save everyone, but you can’t keep doing that to yourself.” 

“He was just a kid...” 

“And you are just one man who does his best to keep his city safe.” 

“What if my best isn't enough?” 

“Tell that to all the people you have saved. I bet they didn't think you were weak. I don’t think you are weak either. You are the strongest person I know.” There is no lie in her heartbeat. 

He sniffles, bows his head. She is the strong one, not him. “You give me too much credit.” 

“Will you just accept a compliment for once?” she says in exasperation. If he weren't like this she’d probably smack him with something. 

He gives her a sad smile. He doesn't feel strong, not right now. He wants to argue, tell her that she is wrong, tell her that he is not that strong, he really isn't. He knows it’s going to be futile, though, so he remains silent. She probably knows what he is thinking anyway. 

He feels her thumb caressing his cheek and then her lips on his forehead in a lingering kiss. Yeah, she definitely knows. And, although he might not feel strong in this moment, he feels safe; and that’s what he needs right now. 

The last time he felt truly safe with someone was when his dad was alive and he is terrified that if he lets himself get used to this something will happen and he will lose it, lose them. He doesn't know if he can survive another loss. 

“You're infuriating at times, you know that?” she says, only half-jokingly. 

“It's been known to happen...” he agrees, trailing his finger against her collarbone. 

“You're lucky I think you're cute, Murdock,” she teases and he chuckles. He couldn't agree more. 

“Very lucky, indeed,” he tells her seriously before capturing her lips with his. 

He pulls away with a sigh and he simply tucks his head under her chin, presses his ear against her chest, listens to the rhythmic _lub-dub_ of her heart—one of his favourite sounds. He drapes his arm over her body, hugging her to him, and he focuses on her heartbeat, lets it wash over him and drown out the outside world. 

The fingers of her right hand run through his hair and he can’t help but close his eyes at her soft ministrations. He reaches out and catches her left hand in his right one, interlocks their fingers together. For a few moments he simply marvels at how good this feels before bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it gently. Her lips brush against his forehead lovingly and he hums, the sound coming from deep within his chest, and he feels her smile. 

_Soft stuff._

_Surrounding yourself with soft stuff isn't_ _life._

And in this moment, with Karen’s arms around him, her body pressed intimately against his, he realises how wrong his mentor was and that soft stuff is exactly that: life in its purest form. 

He dreads to think what would have happened today if he didn't have the people he loves in his life to pull him out of the darkness of his mind. Foggy, Karen, his mum, they know exactly what to do and what to say to get through that carefully constructed armour of his. It takes time, it’s rarely easy and sometimes it takes the collective efforts of all three of them to get through. Sometimes, they even fail; but they never give up. They are his better self. 

He wonders if Stick ever had even a fraction of this in his life; people to care for him so completely. He doubts he did... He doesn't want to think of Stick, not right now. 

He sinks deeper into Karen's embrace, closes his eyes. He lets her steady heartbeat lull him to sleep, hoping the nightmares won’t be too brutal. He reminds himself that she’ll be there to chase them away and tonight he is going to let her without protest. 

He lets himself drown in the feeling of her, all-encompassing, and he gives in to exhaustion and sleep with her arms still wrapped around him; his guardian angel. 

_Soft stuff._

It's what makes this life worthwhile.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story. Any feedback is really appreciated!  
> Thank you for reading! :)


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